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Everything's eventual.

English proverbs
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Cleon

"As certain also of your own poets have said"—

[An imaginary person. The poet quoted by St. Paul was Aratus, a native of Tarsus.]

Cleon the poet (from the sprinkled isles,
Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea,
And laugh their pride when the light wave lisps "Greece")—
To Protus in his Tyranny: much health!

They give thy letter to me, even now:
I read and seem as if I heard thee speak.
The master of thy galley still unlades
Gift after gift; they block my court at last
And pile themselves along its portico
Royal with sunset, like a thought of thee:
And one white she-slave from the group dispersed
Of black and white slaves (like the chequer-work
Pavement, at once my nation's work and gift,
Now covered with this settle-down of doves),
One lyric woman, in her crocus vest
Woven of sea-wools, with her two white hands
Commends to me the strainer and the cup
Thy lip hath bettered ere it blesses mine.

Well-counselled, king, in thy munificence!
For so shall men remark, in such an act
Of love for him whose song gives life its joy,
Thy recognition of the use of life;
Nor call thy spirit barely adequate
To help on life in straight ways, broad enough
For vulgar souls, by ruling and the rest.
Thou, in the daily building of thy tower—
Whether in fierce and sudden spasms of toil,
Or through dim lulls of unapparent growth,
Or when the general work 'mid good acclaim
Climbed with the eye to cheer the architect—
Didst ne'er engage in work for mere work's sake—
Hadst ever in thy heart the luring hope
Of some eventual rest a-top of it,
Whence, all the tumult of the building hushed,
Thou first of men mightst look out to the East:
The vulgar saw thy tower, thou sawest the sun.
For this, I promise on thy festival
To pour libation, looking o'er the sea,
Making this slave narrate thy fortunes, speak
Thy great words, and describe thy royal face—
Wishing thee wholly where Zeus lives the most,
Within the eventual element of calm.

Thy letter's first requirement meets me here.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
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I. The Ring and the Book

Do you see this Ring?
'T is Rome-work, made to match
(By Castellani's imitative craft)
Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn,
After a dropping April; found alive
Spark-like 'mid unearthed slope-side figtree-roots
That roof old tombs at Chiusi: soft, you see,
Yet crisp as jewel-cutting. There's one trick,
(Craftsmen instruct me) one approved device
And but one, fits such slivers of pure gold
As this was,—such mere oozings from the mine,
Virgin as oval tawny pendent tear
At beehive-edge when ripened combs o'erflow,—
To bear the file's tooth and the hammer's tap:
Since hammer needs must widen out the round,
And file emboss it fine with lily-flowers,
Ere the stuff grow a ring-thing right to wear.
That trick is, the artificer melts up wax
With honey, so to speak; he mingles gold
With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both,
Effects a manageable mass, then works:
But his work ended, once the thing a ring,
Oh, there's repristination! Just a spirt
O' the proper fiery acid o'er its face,
And forth the alloy unfastened flies in fume;
While, self-sufficient now, the shape remains,
The rondure brave, the lilied loveliness,
Gold as it was, is, shall be evermore:
Prime nature with an added artistry—
No carat lost, and you have gained a ring.
What of it? 'T is a figure, a symbol, say;
A thing's sign: now for the thing signified.

Do you see this square old yellow Book, I toss
I' the air, and catch again, and twirl about
By the crumpled vellum covers,—pure crude fact
Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard,
And brains, high-blooded, ticked two centuries since?
Examine it yourselves! I found this book,
Gave a lira for it, eightpence English just,
(Mark the predestination!) when a Hand,
Always above my shoulder, pushed me once,
One day still fierce 'mid many a day struck calm,
Across a Square in Florence, crammed with booths,
Buzzing and blaze, noontide and market-time,
Toward Baccio's marble,—ay, the basement-ledge
O' the pedestal where sits and menaces
John of the Black Bands with the upright spear,
'Twixt palace and church,—Riccardi where they lived,
His race, and San Lorenzo where they lie.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
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POLITICIANS AND DEATH Mar 24th,2011

I’m concerned about my own eventual future death,
And the lack of political concern about my last breath,
They couldn’t care less, when or where or how we die,
This couldn’t happen to them because it doesn’t apply.

It’s all because Death With Dignity is illegal here,
Therefore our pompous politicians barely look and leer,
But I’ve got news for them; they too will eventually die,
It may even be slow, long and painful amid their loud cries.

Therefore our eventual Death With Dignity should be discussed,
And why do our politicians view this subject with disgust?
We’re having an election but parties wont talk about this,
Some states have it: Oregon, Washington and or course the Swiss.

Mar 24th,2011

poem by James Bredin
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The Universal Daydream Nights

The Moons Rise In Your Eyes
A Dual Moon Reflection As I Look
To You I See Two Of What...
When One With You Is Awe When Us
Could There Ever Be A Love So Natural
As Seen From You... The Stereoscopic
Of A Celestial Body Up Above
But Closer Still As I Look To You
As Heavenly A Body As The Moon
But A Reflection-Hope Closer To Hold
The Heavens In My Arms In Reaching Out
A Haven In My Arms In Touching You
Truth To Heaven In A Broken Heart
When Looking To The Skies Above
You See Afar Away Earth's Only Moon
While I Look Closer In At You
A Starry Eyed Reflection Into Moons
In Your Duo-Pair Of Eyes You See The Moon
But I Can Always See The Two In You
The Only Moon Reflected In Both Eyes
Where Creation Of One Into Two
Can Only Exist As I Look To You
While Our Eyes Can Meet But Not Yet Touch
Long Enough For Me To Hold You In My Heart
A Mutual Transfixation That Can Not Be
For As Long A Duration That There Is A Night
When Afar Away We Are Alone
Not Holding Each Other As Transfixed
Like You With Moon And The Divide Without
As Afar Away We Are Within
Is You To See The Up Above
And I To See You From Afar Away So Near
Enchantment Transfixes You To The Moon
While I As Equally More Enchanted Still
Of You In Person In My Eyes
That All In Eventual Learn The True Celestial Close
Where There Are More Heavens Here Than What's Above
While Here On Level Ground Where Some Can't Feel
The Impossible Truth To Know When Two Can Grow
To Exist As Reflection In Both Our Eyes
As You Look Up... I Look To You
As I Yearn To The Eventual Look To Me
As Heaven Can Only Exist In The Immediacy Of You
Or Up Into Lunar Stardust We Rise
In Hand In Hand, We Exist As One
As We Swim Together In Our Pupil Oceanus Love'
Lunar As They Are At Night
And Eclipsing As They Are To Sun
Like A Sea Of Love Over Years I've Lost
And Found Then Lost And Then Found Again

[...] Read more

poem by Ricardo Antunes
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For minority actors, developing our own projects has to be the eventual path. We have a lot of stories to tell and a really unique voice. But none of that is going to be heard as long as we're just the hired hands, acting.

quote by Jimmy Smits
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I dare suggest that the composer would do himself and his music an immediate and eventual service by total, resolute and voluntary withdrawal from this public world to one of private performance and electronic media.

quote by Milton Babbitt
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In both the presence of evil and the eventual triumph over evil the sweep is cosmic. It embraces the entire universe, what to man is both seen and unseen. The victory is to be accomplished through Christ.

quote by Kenneth Scott Latourette
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At Euro '92 itself, we bowed out to the eventual winners, Denmark, in our final group match.

quote by Michel Patini
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Sceletons Of Society

Minutes seem like days
Since fire ruled the sky
The rich became the beggars
And the fools became the wise
Memories linger in my brain
Of burning from the acid rain
A pain I never have won

Nothing here remains
No future and no past
No one could foresee
The end that came so fast
Hear the prophet make his guess
That paradise lies to the west
So join his quest for the sun

Shades of death are all I see
Fragments of what used to be

The world slowly decays
Destruction fills my eyes
Harboring the image
Of a spiraling demise
Burning winds release they fury
Simulating judge and jury
Drifting flurries of pain

Deafening silence reigns
As twilight fills the sky
Eventual supremacy
Daylight waits to die
Darkness always calls my name
A pawn in this recurring game
Humanity going insane

Shades of death are all I see
Fragments of what used to be

Minutes seem like days
Corrosion fills the sky
Morbid dreams of anarchy
Brought judgement in disguise
Memories linger in my brain
Life with nothing more to gain
Perpetual madness remains

Shades of death are all I see
Skeletons of society
Fragments of what used to be
Skeletons of society

[...] Read more

song performed by Slayer from Seasons In The Abyss
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But once I went for it, left my inhibitions aside and saw its eventual success, it made me much more comfortable and eager THIS time around to take it to a whole new level.

quote by Jason Biggs
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The eventual place the American army should take on the western front was to a large extent influenced by the vital question of communication and supply.

quote by Kelly Miller
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Marriage is an act of will that signifies and involves a mutual gift, which unites the spouses and binds them to their eventual souls, with whom they make up a sole family - a domestic church.

quote by Pope John Paul II
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My nomadic childhood dramatically fed my eventual decision to be an actor, but not in the way you might think.

quote by Josh Lucas
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The small companies who feel that the majors are a threat, or are predators, will use that as an excuse for their eventual downfall. Don't blame others for your own inadequacies.

quote by Greg Ginn
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The Wayfarers

Is it the hour? We leave this resting-place
Made fair by one another for a while.
Now, for a god-speed, one last mad embrace;
The long road then, unlit by your faint smile.
Ah! the long road! and you so far away!
Oh, I'll remember! but . . . each crawling day
Will pale a little your scarlet lips, each mile
Dull the dear pain of your remembered face.

. . . Do you think there's a far border town, somewhere,
The desert's edge, last of the lands we know,
Some gaunt eventual limit of our light,
In which I'll find you waiting; and we'll go
Together, hand in hand again, out there,
Into the waste we know not, into the night?

poem by Rupert Brooke
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V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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There is no question that al-Qaida operatives are currently active in Iraq. A premature exit before the threat they represent has been dealt with would endanger America and the prospects of eventual peace in the Middle East.

quote by Robert Foster Bennett
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Rest assured that my support for any eventual reform package will be based firmly upon what is in the best interests of the people of Upstate New York, not any party or president.

quote by James T. Walsh
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